Page 5

Olivia

D AD: Have you given any more thought to my proposal?

In the dark of my room, the text flashes across my screen. It’s been two days since he asked me to move in.

I should reply. I should tell him I’ll take him up on it.

But there’s a striking difference between what I should do and what I can feasibly force myself to get done.

Forcing myself to move back in? It’s not an option.

I shut off my phone, letting the last few moments of quiet settle over me before the day begins. Almost as if on cue, I feel the familiar tug of the blankets at my feet.

The covers slip past my stomach before Chesna plops onto the bed and nestles at my feet. I spot her piercing yellow-green eyes, and I tsk quietly, welcoming her toward me. Her tail flicks, but she makes no move forward. Instead, she silently watches until I sigh.

Damn cat.

I remember thinking she’d be great company when I got her a couple of years back.

If only I knew the trouble she’d be .

Chesna must sense I’ve given up because as soon as I quit trying to pet her, she climbs on my chest, two paws right over my heart. Staring. Her tail flicks again.

“Okay, I’ll feed you. But only if you let me pet you.”

She lets me scratch her ears for all of five seconds before she barrels for the door. With a smile, I head after her. The hallway tile is cool against my feet, and the smell of fresh coffee draws me through the living room toward the quartz countertops in the kitchen.

I have just over an hour until I have to be at the Belmont to meet a possible new client. First consultations are always fun. Within minutes of meeting a couple, I can tell whether I’ll be able to transform their dreams into a reality.

Dropping a cup of kibble into Chesna’s bowl, I busy myself adding a few tablespoons of milk to my coffee as she eats. Slivers of morning light shine through the kitchen window, revealing the entirety of Sutton in the distance. A train ride across town and the shamble community housing turns into sleek condos and expensive penthouses. I spend most of my time there, but I’ve been eying an office space closer to Marketside for the better part of a year.

Even if expanding my business is still a ways off.

Chesna patiently waits by the door after I’m done showering. It’s our usual routine. She perches on the credence table, sunning and waiting until I crack the door to open her eyes. She sniffs my outstretched knuckles, licking once before scurrying away. I shake my head.

The walk through the market is quiet. A few vendors are setting up for the day, but I take the walked path past the parking garage in favor of the train station. The train is brimming with early morning commuters, so I stand at the back.

The city passes quickly, and the gray early morning sky slips into the warmer afternoon sun. The deeper into the city you go, the less colorful it becomes. The color- the life- fades.

It’s part of the reason I’ve always hated the Belmont. Its sleek glass doors and molten onyx flooring form a mirage. Only the orange glow from the candles flickering on the tables offer any color.

On the second floor, I reserved a private room, and I’m glad when I find a few hostesses still arranging the long oak table with tea cups and crystal glasses.

“Good morning,” I greet them with a nod.

One offers a polite smile. “Will your guests be joining us soon, Ms. Hughes?”

My watch tells me they should be here in about ten minutes, and I tell the hostess as such, digging my journal and pens out of my bag. My phone dings just as I pen out my plan for the day. I’m tempted to ignore it, but when I see the name across my screen, my heart skips.

Charlotte: Hey.

A few moments later:

Charlotte: It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from you. I know I have no right to, but… I miss you. Are you alright?

I didn’t answer her previous text. Or one from a couple of weeks back. I only found out she left the hospital because her husband, Skar, texted me. It would have been easy to visit. I was still visiting Dad everyday at the time anyways.

But I didn’t.

Maybe it’s pride that’s gotten the better of me. I’m angry. Angry and hurt- and a wicked mess of other emotions I’ve yet to untangle. While I want to see her, I don’t think I have it in me to face her. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

I shove my phone in the pocket of my slacks as I hear a voice behind me: “Are you Olivia?”

When I turn to see the woman who just strolled in, I stand, smiling. “You must be Eleanor.”

Her fiery red hair falls in tendrils over her shoulders, and she brushes a strand back before extending her hand and shaking mine. “Please call me Ella. This is Richard, my fiance.”

A dark-haired man appears behind her, thrusting a hand toward me. “Good to meet you!”

Her green midi dress is the perfect match to his tie, and she turns a bright shade of red as he pulls out her chair and we all sit.

“So, tell me everything! I remember you said you’re looking to have your wedding in December?”

Ella beams. “Yes. I know that’s only six months away, but we’ve heard so many good things about you. Namely, you’re the go-to person when time is tight.”

I think I’m beginning to crave the thrill of a time-crunch.

“I can’t make promises that we’ll get all your requests,” I say, straightening my papers. I continue, “But I always do my best. What are your non-negotiables?”

There are less people on the train ride home. I study the passing skyline while jotting a few dates in my planner. The car rattles across the tracks at a languid pace, skewing my handwriting. The short trip offers enough time to finish transferring my online calendar to my physical one, and when the familiar sign reading Marketside South appears, I stand. I tuck my things away as I exit.

Most of the carts are closed until this evening, and even when I stop by to see if Ricky’s in, his tent flap is closed, signaling his absence. I take my stairs slowly, still unsure of how to handle the conversation with my father.

Only there’s a bundle of flowers and a beige envelope on my doormat.

I recognize them. Blood red roses with bright, coral centers. My pulse quickens as I snatch up the note. The red ribbon wrapped around it is identical to the others. My name is stamped across the note, with no way to recognize the sender.

I slide the ribbon off as I key inside, flowers in-hand. Chesna sits on the credence table, and I absently scratch her ears as I unfold the letter to see the small noteinside:

What would Daddy say if he knew you hid me away?

I lock the deadbolt, hating the quick drop in my stomach as I read the words. I abandon my things by the door, trashing the flowers, and reaching into my bedside table for the other notes I’ve kept. They were accompanied by the same red roses that stink of perfume.

My eyes scan the other notes, but this one… this feels personal. Invasive. Maybe it’s uncertainty that compels me to pick up the phone. Maybe it’s the thought that I don’t know who has my address. Or who might have the access to leave the flowers at my door. But, I dial the number without looking.

After a few rings, he answers.

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Button! I’ve been waiting for you to call me back.”

I disregard the slight dig behind his words. “I wanted to talk about the bodyguard... thing.”

His answering sigh sounds something like relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. I was thinking… I know- I know that you’re uncertain. But I just want the best for you. Warden is a world-class PPO, you know. Private Protection Officer. He worked for the Benenatis, and they’ve given him nothing but glowing reviews.”

“I know,” I chuckle, the notes forgotten on my bed. I try not to picture Warden- or those unnerving eyes- again. “I called to say that I’ve thought about it... and I agree.”

“Really??” he blurts, and I can imagine the shock on his face as he says, “That’s wonderful! We can move all your stuff back in-”

“I’m not moving back in,” I say, wincing at his sudden silence. He doesn’t know about the notes, and I don’t plan on telling him. “I’ll deal with the bodyguard, Dad. But everything else is too much.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds too long, his disappointment clear enough. “Okay. Well... How about we have breakfast tomorrow and talk over the details?”

I agree, but as I reach for the abandoned notes and shove them to the back of my drawer, an idea forms. “I have a better idea. How about dinner tonight?”

“Well, I had a work meeting planned at 9-“

“Great. Where?”.

He laughs. “You remember Blue Saloon?”

We've been a few times- years ago with Mom.

I check my watch before reaching into my closet in search of the perfect outfit. “I’ll bring my dancing boots. Love you!”